


Make Up Your Mind

by KaskardenFluvia



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Drunken Kissing, Excessive Drinking, First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Cursing, Post-Canon, aziraphale is an idiot, crowley is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-02 03:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaskardenFluvia/pseuds/KaskardenFluvia
Summary: “I must admit, that flaming sword did look good on you.” Crowley slurred, taking another sip from his wine. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.“Really!” Crowley insisted, leaning forwards in his chair. “It looked…hot.” He giggled about his pun and relaxed back into the armchair. Aziraphale shook his head in annoyance.***Set shortly after the Almost-Apocalypse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new hyperfixation

“I must admit, that flaming sword did look good on you.” Crowley slurred, taking another sip from his wine. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“Really!” Crowley insisted, leaning forwards in his chair. “It looked…hot.” He giggled about his pun and relaxed back into the armchair. Aziraphale shook his head in annoyance.

“Stop mocking me.” He murmured, staring into his empty glass.

“M’not.” Crowley mumbled, downing the rest of his wine. “Seeing you like that put – what’s the word again- _righteous_ fear into my heart.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes in response, a slight smile playing around his lips.

“Made you look like a proper lil’ soldier.” Crowley added, and the angel started laughing.

“Now I know you’re mocking me.” He responded and reached for a new bottle of wine. He opened it and poured Crowley a new glass without asking before filling up his own as well. The table between them was already littered with bottles, the vast majority of which had already been emptied.

Crowley watched Aziraphale sip on his wine, inspecting the fingernails on his free hands, probably wondering if they already needed a new manicure. Suddenly, the angel looked up, meeting Crowley’s staring eyes. They stared at each other for a second, before Aziraphale broke the eye contact. Crowley felt his cheeks burning up. He reached for glass and took a big gulp of red wine, struggling to keep his heart from racing.

“Can I take a look at it again?” He asked, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence between them. Aziraphale frowned.

“Huh?”, he responded.

“The sword.”, Crowley drawled and Aziraphale sighed.

“I already gave it back.”, he explained. Crowley shook his head and smiled slightly.

“Come on, angel. You know as well as I do that you can just matre- mater- matria- _miracle_ it into your hand.”, he said and Aziraphale sighed again.

“You know I don’t like that thing. It’s a massive fire hazard.”, he murmured. Crowley put down his glass and leaned towards him again.

“Come on. Just a little glimpse.”, he pleaded. Aziraphale shook his head adamantly.

“Angel, please.” Crowley whispered, leaning even further towards him. He could faintly feel the angel’s breath on his face. “For me.”

Aziraphale mustered him, blinking slowly. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity and Crowley found himself wondering if Aziraphale knew how entrancing his eyes were when the angel suddenly sighed and nodded. Crowley grinned and leaned back a bit, still staying close.

His friend snapped his finger and suddenly he was holding the sword again. Crowley could hear the faint roar of the fire, could feel the heat radiating of the blade. He stared into the flames, enchanted by their flickering movements. Without thinking or rather with the alcohol making him think that touching a sword flaming with _holy fire_ was the best thing he could do right now he reached out, laying his hand onto the blade. Immediately, a sharp pain _burned_ through his arm and he hissed involuntarily. Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock and he let go of the sword, which vanished before it could touch the wooden floor of the bookshop.

“Crowley!”, he exclaimed, almost rising out of his chair but staying seated on the edge.

“Ow.”, the demon winced, cradling his burned hand against his chest. Aziraphale shook his head, an incredulous look in his eyes.

“What did you think would happen?” He wanted to know, managing to sound amused, worried and accusing at the same time. Crowley admired him for that feat despite the pain cursing through his arm.

“I dunno.” He mumbled, the alcohol finally starting to dull the pain. Or maybe he was just starting to heal already.

“Show me.”, Aziraphale demanded, holding out his hand. Reluctantly, gave him his hand, his heart starting to race in his chest the second they touched. The angel gently turned his hand, examining the burn.

“Nothing a little healing can’t fix.”, he muttered, more to himself than to Crowley, before putting his other hand on top of Crowley’s. He could feel warmth pulsing through his fingers and when Aziraphale lifted his hand again, all evidence of the burn was gone. The angel gently brushed over the new skin with his thumb and Crowley leaned forward again without thinking. Aziraphale looked down at him, his face just inches away from his own and maybe it was just the alcohol, but his cheeks seemed flushed, his slightly parted lips even redder than usual. Crowley’s breath hitched in his chest, his heart hammering in his ears, drowning out every other sound. Aziraphale glanced at his lips for a split-second and that was all Crowley needed to finally close the gap between them, pressing his lips against Aziraphale’s. He saw the angel close his eyes and his own fluttered shut as he felt Aziraphale kissing him back, gripping his hand tightly. Crowley moved his free hand to his hip, pulling him closer. The angel followed but then he suddenly broke their lips apart again.

“Crowley.”, he breathed, and Crowley kissed him again, chasing after his lips. Aziraphale let go off his hand, putting it up against his chest, pushing him away slightly.

“Stop.”, he said, turning his face sideways. Crowley tried pulling him closer but was pushed away.

“I don’t-“, Aziraphale muttered. “I don’t want this.”

Crowley recoiled immediately, feeling like he had just been slapped. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh.”, he breathed, staring down at his trembling hands. It felt like someone had just ripped his heart out of his chest, leaving it hollow.

“I – you – it’s just-“, Aziraphale stammered, flailing his hands around helplessly. “I just –“

“You just what?”, Crowley hissed, anger quickly replacing the hollow feeling in his chest. “Don’t know that you want?”

He rose to his feet unsteadily, the room tilting around him, evidence of how drunk he still was.

“Crowley, I’m sorry, I – “ Aziraphale said weakly, rising out of his own chair. He took a step forward but Crowley staggered back, nearly falling over his own feet.

“I don’t want to hear your blessed excuses!”, Crowley shouted, steadying himself on the back of his chair. The room was still spinning around him.

“Can’t we just sober up and talk about this?”, the angel asked, his eyes suddenly no longer hazy from the alcohol, his speech clear again.

“I don’t want to _talk!_ ”, Crowley hissed, refusing to sober himself up as well.

“Crowley, dear, please be-“, Aziraphale said, but Crowley cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“You are such a fucking tease, _angel._ ” He spat out, turning on his heel, thankful that it didn’t make him fall. He staggered out of the backroom and towards the front door, Aziraphale following him. He reached out, getting a hold of Crowley’s jacket just when he had reached the front door.

“Please, stay.” He whispered. Crowley scoffed, shaking his arm off violently.

“Make up your godblessed mind!” He yelled before storming through the door and out onto the street, the door falling shut behind him with a loud bang. He had thought that Aziraphale would follow him outside, a small part of him had even wished him to do so, but the door stayed shut.

He staggered forward, angrily wiping the tears from his eyes. He couldn’t remember where he had parked his blessed car, if he had even used it to get to the bookshop. Muttering a mixture of curses and blessings under his breath, he started stumbling home.

 

When he finally reached his apartment almost an hour later his head had cleared up a bit, the alcohol making room for the thought that maybe he had just made a terrible mistake. That there had been some terrible, terrible misunderstanding. He shook his head violently, trying to get rid off the nagging suspicion that it probably would have been wise to sober up earlier. It didn’t work, the thoughts stayed, twisting his guts and pouring ice into his veins.

“More alcohol then.” He muttered, wiping the fresh tears from his eyes and shuffling towards the kitchen.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind feedback on the first chapter, I hope you enjoy the second one as much as the first.

Aziraphale hadn’t heard a single word from Crowley in five days. The demon had gone silent the second he had run out of the bookshop. This sort of silence wasn’t unheard of, there had been times where they hadn’t seen each other for years, decades even. But ever since the Apocalypse-That-Almost-Was they had gotten into the habit of seeing each other almost every day and if for some reason they couldn’t find the time to meet they at least talked over the phone.

He had tried calling Crowley shortly after he had run out of the bookshop, leaving a message asking Crowley to call him back as soon as he sobered up, so that they could talk about what happened. He hadn’t gotten an answer.

He had called him a second time the morning after, apologising for his behaviour and again asking him to call. Crowley hadn’t called this time either.

The next day he had called once again, more or less begging Crowley to hear him out, or to at least call him back even if it was just to tell Aziraphale to leave him alone. They had argued many times before, usually going separate ways for a few years before ‘randomly’ running into each other again and agreeing to forget what happened. He could have lived with that even if it meant that he might not see Crowley for a decade or two. What he couldn’t live with was this silence, that came with a constant feeling of dread, with the fear that something terrible had happened to Crowley, that he simply didn’t call back because he actually _couldn’t._

Five days, it had been five days without a single sign of live from the demon and Aziraphale was growing increasingly worried with every second that passed. He tossed the last piece of bread to the ducks in St James Park. He watched the ducks fighting over the last crumbs, nervously fidgeting with the empty paper bag in his hands. His heart started racing in his chest, matching the rapid speed of his thoughts, chasing one another, each vision worse than the one before.

Crowley, shouting at him and calling him a tease.

Crowley, pushing him away, tears in his eyes.

Crowley, staggering home, someone or _something_ lurking behind him.

Crowley, being dragged down to hell.

Crowley, screaming in pain.

Crowley, bruised and battered.

Crowley, lying de-

Aziraphale shook his head violently, derailing his train of thought. He stared down at his trembling hands, willing then to stop. He tried slowing down his racing heart too, but it kept hammering in his chest.

Instead, he tried focusing on something else. The fact that he should have been angry at Crowley, for example. After all, _he_ had been the one to storm off without giving Aziraphale the chance to explain himself. _He_ was the one who refused to call back, who refused to hear him out. He was being childish really, trying to make Aziraphale feel guilty for his own mistake (and he was pretty sure that it had been _Crowley’s_ mistake.)

“To hell with him.” He muttered, as he tossed the paper bag into the bin.

A second later he was standing in front of Crowley’s door, doubling over as his stomach grappled with the fact that he was no longer standing in St James Park. The nausea was one of the reasons he thought teleportation a rather inelegant form of transportation.

He felt a slight feeling of relief when he saw that there were no signs of a forced entry, no scratches on the door. It vanished instantly when he remembered that the kind of _beings_ that might be after Crowley wouldn’t go through the trouble of _actually_ breaking in.

Hesitantly he knocked twice against the black wood.

“Crowley?” He called, his voice echoing through the staircase. “It’s me.”

“Aziraphale.” He added dumbly when there was no answer from inside the flat.

“Please, let me in.” Aziraphale shouted, knocking on the door again. Again, no one answered, there wasn’t even a sign of someone being inside, no footsteps, no music, nothing. He started banging at the door, actually hoping that Crowley would show up behind him, calling him out for making such a fuss when he obviously just hadn’t been home.

“Crowley!” He shouted, hammering against the door with his fist. He felt panic creep into his body, making his heart race again.

“Crowley, open the damned door!” He hollered, but to no avail. The door stayed closed. He breathed in shakily. His heart was pounding away in his chest, the panic pushing any rational thought away.

“I’m coming in!” He called out, opening the door with a wave of his hand. It was frighteningly easy to let himself in. He stepped into the dark hallway, carefully closing the door behind him. As soon as he entered the living room he registered three things. Firstly, Crowley obviously had been home in the past five days. Secondly, there were no signs of a fight. Thirdly, and most noticeably, the place _reeked_ of alcohol.

He switched on the lights with a quick thought and saw that the whole place was littered with bottles. Whiskey, Wine, Scotch and some more obscure drinks with names long forgotten by humanity. Growing more and more worried with every second he realised that all of them were empty, not a drop of alcohol left in any of them.

He called the demon’s name again, and yet again he was met with silence. Carefully, avoiding the bottles standing on the floor he walked over to the bedroom door. The bed was used and to his dismay he found more bottles lying around as well. Gulping, he hurried past the open bathroom, one glance enough to see that it was empty. The last room left was the small kitchen and Aziraphale send a silent prayer to Up Above to find Crowley in there before he entered the dark room. He flicked the switch, harsh light immediately pouring over the kitchen.

Crowley was hunched over in the corner, still wearing the clothes he had been wearing when Aziraphale had last seen him, his hair a dishevelled mess. For a split-second he thought he was dead. His heart skipped a beat, his mind already starting to shut down, crumbling in on itself, giving in under the pressure. Then he saw Crowley’s chest rise and fall once and a wave of relieved crashed over him. His knees started to tremble and he dropped down next to Crowley, cupping his face with his hands.

“Crowley.” He whispered, barely holding back tears of relief. The demon didn’t stir, his chest rising and falling steadily.

“Crowley.” He repeated, shaking him slightly, but he didn’t seem to notice. Aziraphale sighed, harshly shaking him by the shoulders, but to no avail. Crowley was out like a light. He had to pry open one of his eyes to finally wake him up.

“Angel.” He drawled, his yellow eyes unfocused. Aziraphale had never seen him _this_ drunk. The only time that even came close to this was when they had discovered the pleasant effects of wine without knowing that there were consequences of enjoying too much. Aziraphale only had a dim recollection of the evening, he just knew that afterwards he had woken up with the first and only hangover of his 6000 years on earth.

“What the hell did you do the last few days?” He muttered, pulling Crowley into a sitting position. The demon let out a hollow chuckle.

“You know...” He slurred, carelessly throwing his arm out. “Alcohol.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Aziraphale answered, glancing at the empty bottles on the kitchen counter. “Have you been drinking non-stop for the past _five_ days?”

Crowley shrugged.

“Dunno. Can’t remember what day ‘tis.” He answered and Aziraphale widened his eyes in shock.

“Is that why you didn’t answer any of my calls?” He asked, barely containing his sudden anger. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”

Crowley only shrugged in response, his eyes fluttering shut again. Anger rising in his chest, Aziraphale shook him again, forcing him to look at him.

“We need to talk. Sober up.” He demanded, rising off the floor, trying to pull Crowley up by the hands. It was like tugging at a bag of bricks.

“No.” Crowley said, shooting him a smug grin. Aziraphale crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Crowley, you’re being incredibly childish.” He informed the demon, pressing his lips into a hard line. Crowley slowly raised an eyebrow and shrugged again.

“At least get up.” Aziraphale ordered, fuming with anger, replacing the concern he had felt earlier. Crowley rolled his eyes in annoyance but let himself be pulled to his feet. He swayed slightly, steadying himself on the kitchen counter.

“What now angel?” He slurred, taking a miraculously filled bottle from the counter. Aziraphale slapped it out of his hand, the glass shattering on the floor. Crowley stared at him, mouth wide with shock.

“Now you are going to sober up and then we’re going to talk about why you felt like you needed to go on a five-day bender!” He shouted, grabbing Crowley by the shoulders, making the demon flinch. “Have you completely lost your mind? Human bodies aren’t meant to survive that much alcohol. You could have been discorporated!”

Crowley pushed him away, anger glinting in his eyes as he swayed unsteadily.

“Fuck off.” He muttered. Aziraphale clenched his fists, his stomach twisting.

“Sober up. _Now_.” He hissed. Crowley crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“No. What you gonna do about it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Your choice.” Aziraphale said through pressed lips. He raised his hand and slapped Crowley. The demon’s head whipped around, his eyes wide, one hand flying up to cradle his cheek instinctively.  

“Angel?” He shouted and Aziraphale slapped him again, biting back tears. Crowley blinked rapidly, moving his hand to the other side of his face. Before he could say something Aziraphale slapped him a third time. Crowley stumbled backwards, his back hitting the wall in his attempt to get out of Aziraphale’s reach.

“Are you done?” He shouted, a mixture of anger and confusion in his voice. „What the heaven was that for?”

Aziraphale pressed his trembling lips together and closed his eyes for a second before he answered.

“The first one was to sober you up.” He explained, letting out a shaky breath.

“The second one was for running off without a word after _kissing_ me.” He continued and took a step towards Crowley, who pressed himself against the wall.

“And the third one was for making me think I had lost you!” Aziraphale choked out, tears filling his eyes again. “I thought they had dragged you back to hell! I thought you were dead! I thought – I thought I would have to live on without you!” A hysteric sob escaped his lips and he could no longer hold back the tears. Embarrassed, he buried his head in his hands, his whole body quaking.

“Oh angel.” Crowley whispered softly, every little hint of anger gone from his voice. Carefully like he was scared he would be pushed away, he pulled Aziraphale towards him, gently stroking his back. Aziraphale buried his face in his chest, his tears soaking into Crowley’s dark shirt.

“I thought I had lost you.” He repeated, his voice muffled. He gripped the back of Crowley’s shirt tightly, pulling him closer. A hand buried itself in his hair.

“Don’t worry angel.” Crowley murmured, resting his chin on top of Aziraphale’s head. “I’m not leaving you anytime soon.”

Aziraphale lifted his head off his chest, wiping his eyes with one hand before looking up at Crowley.

“Good.”, he said firmly. “Because I love you very much and I don’t think I could live without you.” He felt his cheeks growing hot as Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You – you _love_ me?” he whispered and Aziraphale blinked at him, confused.

“Of course I do!”, he exclaimed. “I’ve loved you for _centuries_.”

Crowley opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He tried it a second time.

“But when I – you said you –“ He stammered. “You said you didn’t want me to kiss you.”

Aziraphale looked down at his feet, cheeks still burning hot.

“Because you were so drunk.”, he mumbled, not daring to look at Crowley. “I thought it didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Oh angel.” He whispered again and lifted Aziraphale’s chin with his hand. “I don’t know how often I’ve thought about kissing you without ever being brave enough to actually do it.” His cheeks were flushed as well, and his face silently begged for forgiveness. Aziraphale smiled weakly, lips still trembling. They stared at each other for a second.

“You want me to do it again?”, Crowley muttered and Aziraphale felt his breath hitch in his chest. He nodded, unable to say anything. The demon smiled slightly before leaning down, Aziraphale eagerly pulling him close as soon as their lips met. He melted into Crowley’s touch, leaning heavily against him. He buried one of his hands in his dark hair, pulling Crowley even closer with the other, intend on never letting go of him again.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I re-wrote most of this on my phone and even though I did edited on my laptop there might be some autocorrect errors I didn't catch left so if you find any please tell me. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this little story, I certainly had fun reading it.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I read Good Omens a few years ago (I think it was one of the first books I read in English outside of school and it took me ages to read but I liked it anyways) and it had always been lurking at the back of my head and then a few days ago the trailer for the TV show dropped and I went "huh, neat" and then I watched it five times in a row and realised that I might be developing a slight obsession, which always leads to me starting to write fanfiction excessively.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. (And yes, the title is the name of a Florence+the machine track)  
> If you spot any grammar/spelling mistakes please let me know.


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